Nov 30 2019 Isaiah 49: 1-6

The Lord called me before I was born, while I was in my mother’s womb he named me.
There’s something about this idea that God called me, by name, well before I had any awareness of me. I am intimately known by God, and God had a plan for me, before I had a plan for me. This is comforting, and a little daunting, at the same time.

On the comforting side, I definitely don’t have all the answers, despite my best attempts to come up with them. When I don’t have the answers, I try to convince myself and others that I do. But I don’t. There’s something nice about God having a plan for me, even when I don’t. Perhaps it’s true, God only knows . . .

On the daunting side, it feels like a lot. It feels like the worst kind of pressure. Sort of like the child whose parents expect her to go on to be a major league soccer star, or astronaut. It’s a lot of pressure, to have to live up to someone else’s big expectations. What if I can’t?

The past few days have felt like a lot. We had some friends over for Thanksgiving dinner. It was lovely to host, something I haven’t done for nearly a year, between a new town, new home, new life, and now sick loved one living with us. We had a wonderful time, and our loved one sat in the kitchen all day, chatting with us, commenting on the progress of the preparations, and making a collage of their future plans.

But once our friends arrived, our loved one started a running monologue, peppered with non-sensical, rude and vulgar comments. It was mostly easy to ignore, or to move into another room. But as they spun up, getting increasingly agitated, it became clear that our evening was over. We had gotten to the wonderful pumpkin pie, though so the evening was only a little truncated. Our friends were very understanding.

Since then, our loved one has broadcast their life on social media, calling us out by name, and commenting that we are not helpful. Meanwhile, many people watching this live broadcast are trying to find out who our loved one really is. They’ve figured out their ‘real name’, and found pictures, and found our town. Comments vary from supportive and loving to investigative to mocking. Me, and 1000 of my closest friends watched this live broadcast.

God knew me and called me by name in the womb. Really? This is what I’m supposed to manage? To live with and love? How in the hell… Some days, it feels like the same kind of parental pressure kids must feel. External expectations that far outstrip internal confidence.

God knew me and called me by name in the womb. The feeling of a lack of confidence wanes, when take to heart the rest of this reading from Isaiah. I am honored in the sight of God, and God has become my strength. Maybe I cannot manage on my own, but I am not on my own. God has known me from the womb, and called me to precisely where I am. 

  

This morning, I’m thinking about how to skip the sense of personal inadequacy, and jump to the fact that I am not alone; I have been called to this, and am not alone.

One of our friends from Thursday night said something that I must remember. Amidst the angry and scattered comments coming from our loved one, she thanked us for inviting her over for dinner. She seemed at a loss for words, at how to describe our dinner. Finally, she said that this felt like holy time and sacred space. It is, and it is daunting. But I am not alone.

Nov 29 2019 Matthew 20:17-28

You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave
Jesus continues his march towards Jerusalem, towards his execution. On their way, the mother of the sons of Zebedee asked if her two boys could sit at Jesus’ right and left hand. He explains that he cannot offer that, and meanwhile the remaining disciples were testy that the two tried to elbow their way in to a position of prestige. Jesus tries to explain that the yardstick by which the world measures things has to do with greatness and power. But that his yardstick has more to do with serving. Whoever wishes to be great must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first must be slave.

It seems that from the beginning of time, we have attached value to the powerful, we strive to be that. Is it because we don’t want others to exert power over us, because we don’t want to be power-less? Or is it because we want to be the powerful ourselves, to exert the power over others?

How is it that we opt out of that power economy and instead chose a servant economy? Throughout Jesus’ ministry, he tries to dismantle the power economy, to encourage other ways of measuring our value and worth, and yet it remains, and we remain allured by power and wealth and prestige.

Today is known as ‘black Friday’, a day where people around the world double-down on buying things to save money, or for the sport of the hunt. Even this, trying to save money for lovely gifts for family and friends is all wrapped up in this economy of wealth.

How is it, with the insidious ways this power and wealth economy is everywhere I see, how is it that I can make persistent and intentional choices to operate from that other way? Where I strive to be servant, to be less, to have less, to help more, to give more?

Sunday is the first day of Advent, the first day of the new church year, when we prepare for the birth of Jesus, celebrated at Christmas. It’s a time of self-reflection. Last year, I started my year of writing by participating in a national campaign where different words were offered daily, and people were encouraged to write or take pictures, reflecting on that #AdventWord. This year, I will continue my morning prayer practice, and perhaps build in something intentional for the various church seasons, starting with Advent.  

  

This morning, I’m thinking about how during Advent, I can live and reflect an economy of servant leadership, of valuing love and helping, of not being the first, or getting the best seat. I wonder what it will feel like to actively shun the popular culture values of wealth, power, more, better, during this season when those very values are in every commercial, and store. Today I want to begin to construct my alternate economy scheme for Advent, developing my hints and hacks to counter the messages that come from the great ones described by Jesus.

Nov 28 2019 Matthew 20: 1-16

Or are you envious because I am generous?
Jesus is telling the parable of the vineyard owner who hires some in the morning, some at noon and some in the evening, and at the end of the day, he pays them all the same amount, even though those hired in the morning worked many hours more. They grumbled to him, complaining that they’d worked longer and harder, and received the same pay as those who worked only one hour.

The landowner’s response was to remind the workers from the morning that he’d offered and they’d agreed to a day’s wage, and that’s what he’d paid them. Am I not allowed to do with my money what I want? Or are you envious?

Today is Thanksgiving in the US. It’s a day when many will gather around a loaded dinner table, and have a genuine sense of gratefulness for all of life’s blessings. But maybe it’s just me, but I always feel a little disingenuous when I do that. It feels a little bit like the expected script for one day of the year, but it feels like just a part to play today, not as genuine as I want it to be the other 364 days a year.

For the rest of the year, how often do we measure our bounty against the bounty of others? Or worse, against what we think we are owed?

Even today, I have sense of how much things have changed and how much harder they are than last year’s Thanksgiving. Last year, we had Thanksgiving in our apartment in Portland, but our loved one was not exhibiting any illness. They arrived, like out of town family do, and we played tourist in our town, cooked up a storm, and had a lovely, and gratitude filled Thanksgiving. Today, I’ll cook, enjoying the daylight hours in the apartment (which are limited when I go to work and come home in the dark), and I hope have a gratitude filled dinner with friends. But I do have a sense that it’s not like it could have been, without this illness. My gratitude is a little dampened.

Maybe the difference between my this-year’s-Thanksgiving and my last-year’s-Thanksgiving is more dramatic than most other years. But there’s always something that makes me slightly conditional in my gratitude. I’m really grateful, but I miss my kids. I’m grateful, but my back hurts. I’m grateful, but . . Or the gratitude is fleeting. I’m super grateful today, because it’s the script for the day. But tomorrow, I’ll go back to my mitigated gratitude.

I absolutely understand the parable, and believe the landowner should be able to be generous with his money. I think the first workers should be grateful for the pay they agreed to receive for the work they agreed to do. I think it’s dumb for them to be envious of the workers who came at the end of the day.  

This morning, I’m thinking about how insidious envy or a misplaced sense of righteous indignation can be in my own world, and how much harder it is to see up close, than it is to see in the parable. I wonder if I can give up the sense of envy of what could have been, so I can lose the sense of mitigated gratitude.

As it turns out, I have a great deal to be grateful for, with abandon, and without hesitation. I don’t want to sound like the worker who came in the morning, and is testy, that my lot is different or harder than anyone else’s. That I had to work all day in the scorching sun, and those other workers showed up at the end of the day. I do not want to be those morning grumblers. Today, I want to be thankful for what I have, without comparing it to anything.

Nov 27 2019 I Peter 2: 1-10

Come to him, a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house

I love stones. I’ve always loved stones. When I was little my grandfather gave me a book, Hello Rock, about a child, their new rock, and all the things they could do with the rock. My grandfather collected stones, several of which I inherited, including a big hunk of rose quartz, and obsidian. They were precious to me. I had a neighbor who magically turned dull rocks into beautiful pieces of jewelry in his spare time. His basement was full of all sorts of rocks.

Put me on a beach with pretty rocks and I can lose myself in time, picking up special rocks. One year, I collected enough rocks on a timeless walk on the beach, that I gifted checker sets, with a stained 64-square board, and 2 sets of 16 matching rocks, with a K printed on one side. I love stones.

So when I get to the notion of being a living stone, to be built into a spiritual house, I’m entirely hooked.

Peter is saying that Jesus is the primal Living Stone, the foundation on which our relationship with God is built. Stones are solid, predictible, but generally not thought of as living. As a Living Stone, Jesus is the foundation - solid, predictible and still alive. Jesus is foundational and everything you think of when you think of foundations and stones. But still our alive Lord. We as followers of Jesus, are living stones, solid, predictible and still alive.

Peter goes on to say that as living stones, we should let ourselves be used to be built into a spiritual house. To me, this means allowing myself to be used to create a space that is holy and where God’s presence is apparent. 

This morning, I’m thinking about what it means to be a living stone that can be built into a spiritual house. This combines several intriguing notions to me; stones, Jesus, and holy space. I am currently on a bit of a mission to find holy spaces. Maybe I should also be on a mission to be using my living stone-ness to create a holy space. Today, I want to be mindful of the sacred space that God can create through me, a living stone. I want to make sure that I hold that holy physical space, so both I and others can see God’s presence there.

God is fully divine, and does not inhabit time or space the way I do. But I do inhabit time and space. God can use me to create a physical holy space for me and other people who inhabit space the same way I do, if I’m aware and consent.

Nov 26 2019 Luke 18:35-43 Commemoration of Isaac Watts

When he came near, he asked him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’

Isaac Watts was a priest who died in 1724. He is best known as a prolific hymn writer, writing over 600 hymns, hundreds of which are still in use. Most notable are Our God in Help of Ages Past, When I Survey the Wondrous Cross, and Joy to the World. Through song, his deep faith and gentle faith is evident. Without knowing much about him, I must admit that the last verse of When I Survey has often made me to tear up, so poignant and resonating are the words.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were an offering far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all!


Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all! Wow. Writing that much, Watts must have had a sense of God, and what was demanded of him. His soul, his life, his all.

In the appointed reading for Luke, there is another healing story, this time of the blind beggar. According to Jesus, the beggar regained his sight because of his faith. But at the beginning of the story, Jesus asks the beggar, “What do you want from me?”  

This morning, I’m thinking about what it is I want from Jesus, and wondering if I have as poignant or focused an answer as Watts or the beggar. There are two things I think about, when posed with that question.

First, I want to give my soul, my life, my all. I want to be so precisely clear and drawn to God that without hesitation, I want to dedicate my all. Some times I feel that. And when that focus settles, everything I do is more likely to also be dedicated to God. Some times, without that centrality, I do other things that tend to feel very secular, and not-God centered – go to the gym, schedule meetings at work, clean up after my loved-one’s tornado cooking marathons. If asked by Jesus, I want to increase my response that what I want is the awareness that at all times, in response to God’s love, I want to give my all. That feels to me to be a response of petition, me asking Jesus for what I need.

The other thing I want involves my loved one and all they encounter. I want them to feel the peace and love of God. I want them to get well. I want them to get through these first few years of agitation and certain repeated hospitalizations quicker than the anticipated 3-5 years. Accompanying that, I want the peace and focus to ride that storm. Even three years sounds insufferably long, given the past 10 months. So the other thing I want from Jesus is the healing for them, and peace or healing for me.

But as I write, here’s what I’m thinking. There is definitely some interceding on my loved one’s behalf, but the peace and healing for me? Maybe that is precisely the same thing as the first prayer. In response to God’s immeasurable and unmerited love and grace, I want to give my life, my soul, my all. Maybe that’s all I need to do, in order to have everything else I need, including the peace and healing related to my loved one. Maybe if I can increase my utterly focused dedication to God in response to God’s love, the rest falls into place. Maybe the peace and healing come. Maybe I need to be doubling down on my singular response to Jesus’ question, rather than the buckshot approach.

Back to another set of lyrics of Watts, No more let sin and sorrows grow, nor thorns infest the ground.. He comes to make his blessings flow, far as the curse is found.

Nov 25 2019 John 6:34-38 Commemoration of James Huntington

Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.

James Huntington was born in Boston in 1854. He was ordained a priest, and felt called to serve the poor immigrants in New York’s Lower East Side, and ultimately founded the Order of the Holy Cross, the first Episcopal monastery. Their focus was to serve the poor immigrants, particularly the young. They brought God’s life giving message of Jesus Christ to the people in the poor corners of NY, and taught them about the bread that will never leave them hungry, and a sense of God’s love.

About the rule for the monastery, Huntington wrote, “Holiness is the brightness of divine love, and love is never idle; it must accomplish great things”.

I have known people who I’d describe as Holy. It’s not that they shine or shimmer, or that they have halos, or speak in measured, ever-religious ways. Rather, they do have a brightness about them, that seems to be absolutely rooted in their acceptance of God’s divine love, and their exuding God’s divine love.

I am increasingly moved by people with such focus that their whole life centers on doing God’s work, whether cloistered monks or in the world missionaries. What intrigues me is that I live a worldly life with worldly things like grocery shopping, and a job that pays the bills, that’s punctuated by moments of holy, God focused work and worship. On the other hand, I get the sense that monastics live a life that’s holy, God focused work and worship, punctuated by worldly things like grocery shopping and a job that pays the bills.

Most God-followers do both. We have moments of holy, God-focused work and worship and we have worldly concerns and demands. People who love God, and yet only think about God or God’s call to them for 2 hours on Sunday do both. Monastics do both. I bet the Pope and Dalai Lama do both. We have our moments focused on God and service and love and worship. And we have the rest of the time. Maybe the balance differs between people. Or maybe it’s just our false dualism thinking between God’s work and everything else. 

This morning, I’m thinking about the balance between God focused work, and everything else. I’m wondering if it’s nothing more than the attention and focus we pay to our day. When I am intentional about morning prayer, I’m absolutely thinking I’m doing something on the God side of the ledger. But when I get up, get dressed, make lunch, ride to work, that focus escapes me. But maybe it’s no less God’s work. It’s just my less-focused God work.

Monastics are stuck doing the dishes, and worrying about paying the bills, but they’ve constructed their day so it’s easier to remember that every minute of every day is God’s. God’s divine love that demands action. Today, I want try to erase that fake division of the time of my day, between my actions done in divine love that are holy, and everything else. I want to try to live one day, or starting more modestly, one morning, remembering that every moment and every action is holy, whether I’m reading and reflecting on scripture, or meeting with my loved one’s care team.

Nov 24 2019 Luke 19: 11-27 W

We do not want this man to rule over us.


Jesus is again telling a parable. This time, he’s talking about the man who leaves and gives three slaves money as he leaves. After he leaves, the people say they don’t want this man in charge. He returns, and asks the three what they’ve done with his money. One man invests and doubles the money. Another gets a 50% return. Another buries the money and gives it back, whole, admitting that he was afraid of the man. The man takes the money and gives it to another. Then asks for the people who didn’t want him to rule over them to brought to him so he could slaughter them in his presence.

These parables with evil kings are tricky. What are we to make of taking away and slaughtering. I heard a respected church scholar argue that we read into these stories based on our current understanding of story telling, but that things were different. This bishop who preached on one such parable was adamant that the literary tool of the allegory story post-dates Jesus’ time. So although we hear these stories about the ruler, and immediately think Jesus is talking about Jesus, perhaps not. I’m not sure, and haven’t done half as much study as the preacher I heard. But eliminating that presumption does open these parables up to a depth of meaning otherwise unavailable.

In this context, Jesus is telling this story because he was near Jerusalem, code-word for near his passion, and the people he was with believed the kingdom of God was going to appear to them immediately. For Jesus, fully human, to know that he was heading to his crucifixion, and for Jesus, fully divine to know that his compatriots were awaiting the imminent Kingdom of God, I can imagine Jesus was antsy to share something about the way things were really going to go, rather than their dreams and hopes.

So he tells this story about the ruler who returns and to his slaves he deals somewhat mathematically, meting out rewards or punishment based on their comfort with assuming risk with the ruler. Personally, I would likely have been most like the man who buried the money. You can never be sure.

This morning, I’m thinking about the extras in this story, the people who are described parenthetically as not wanting the ruler. Upon his return, after dealing with the slaves who’d invested well or not at all, he summons those parenthetical extras, and says they should be slaughtered in his presence.

I’m wondering if Jesus is trying to tell the people about their misplaced thoughts about the imminence of the Kingdom of God, despite their blindness to the presence of God in their midst. In Jesus’ time, they were awaiting the kingdom, as if it was someone else, and something else than Christ’s presence and love. Maybe what they were waiting for, was something that upon its arrival would behave more like the owner in this story, taking away, and slaughtering. Maybe Jesus was trying to paint a picture of a leader who played more by the rules his gathered crowd would understand. Tit for tat. Demanded allegiance. Maybe he was painting a picture of what the Kingdom was not going to be like.

And maybe I’m grasping. Bu that’s ok. Part of what I enjoy in writing is the opportunity to muse, and play with possibilities. At the end of the day, it’s time spent with Scripture and reflection and it’s all good.

Nov 23 2019 Matthew 18: 21-35

So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.

Jesus has just told a parable where a slave goes to his lord, explaining he cannot repay his debts. Have patience with me, lord, and I will pay everything. So the lord does. That same slave runs into someone who owes him money, and the second slave asks the first for patience. Instead the slave, whose debts had just been forgiven, ordered his debtor into jail. When the lord heard that, he handed the first slave over to be tortured until his debts were paid. Jesus concludes by saying that the heavenly Father will do to you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from the heart.

Forgiveness is a tricky thing. On a strictly human level, it’s so much easier to see and feel the wrongs that we need to forgive in others, than it is to see the wrongs we’ve caused that mean someone else needs to forgive us. I know who’s wronged me. I can hold those hurts, with a deep sense of ‘justice’ that needs to be righted. And while I might be able to recognize when I’ve wronged someone else, it’s highly unlikely I’d hold on to that wrong, in my master balance sheet of who owes who. I think that means we all walk around with an undisclosed but ever-present running tally sheet of forgiveness sought, and forgiveness given. The problem is that because we’re blinder to our own foibles, our own scoresheet is probably empirically accurate. Even bigger is the problem that we’re all running around with our own biased balance sheet. Writing these words, I’m struck how this is particularly true with the people we love the most.

All of that forgiveness complication – who needs to be forgiven and who needs to forgive, gets more complicated when you introduce the Divine. Because I believe in an all-loving, all-merciful God, God is forgiving me every hour of every day. God would have to considering all of the big and little ways I hurt others, or the earth or the Divine. As our confession say, all things known and unknown, things done and left undone. There is nothing that God doesn’t forgive, and there is nothing that I can do that separates me from that all-merciful love.

So according to Jesus, we are called to forgive others, just like that first slave, because we have been forgiven by God. That I can understand. The part I wrestle with this morning, is the suggestion that “God will do to you”, coming right after hearing that the slave owner tortured the unforgiving slave. I cannot imagine that God will do that, because I don’t believe God is a tortuous God.

But here’s what that might be. It might be self-imposed. In the Dalai Lama’s book on happiness he talks about how sometimes we make our own unhappiness, and he gives several reasons, and one of the reasons is holding on to wrongs. When we feel slighted or wronged by someone else, we use the phrase, ‘wounded’. When we hold on to that, we hold on to that wound. I have met people so riddled with bitterness over past unforgiven wrongs, that they do seem tortured.   

This morning, I’m thinking about how God will allow us to torture ourselves, by holding on to old wounds. God also gives us the model of amazing grace, that we can share. Today, I want to think about the people who I feel slighted by, or where I’m holding a lingering hurt. God loves and forgives and wants to be close to me, despite the stupid things I’ve done. I want to take a step towards doing that with someone who’s done stupid things. I want to let that s**t go.

Nov 22 2019 Revelation 22: 6-13

I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. 


After weeks of reading through Revelation, I am nearing the end. Side note – one reason I’m glad for appointed readings is that without advice to do so, I would likely avoid certain Scripture, most notably Revelation. I’m still not enamored but there are gems, and I glean something when I wade through.

I am the Alpha and Omega, first and last, beginning and end. These are things that John, the writer of Revelation hears from Jesus in his vision. They harken back to quotes from Isaiah, where God says God is the first and the last. That Jesus said these things - Alpha and Omega, beginning and end – is actually not directly attributable to Jesus, anywhere. Rather, it’s John’s visionary and apocalyptical writing in Revelation, where in his vision, he hears Jesus saying these words.

That may be splitting hairs, but for me, the concrete literalist, there’s something important in this. Revelation was written nearly a century after Jesus’ death, so it’s quite likely the author didn’t actually know Jesus when he lived on earth. But he was a devout follower of Jesus and wrote from his community of Jesus followers and these fantastical writings. That his writings of God’s message to him are included in our Scripture says to me that our understanding of God is living and morphing.

This author had visions of Christ’s reign, in the context of an oppressive Rome. And God spoke to and through him. Writers and singers and dreamers have had visions of Christ’s reign in their context since that time. And while it is true that it’s difficult to tell the difference between a kooky delusion and God’s word, God has clearly spoken to and through people since Jesus roamed the earth, as evidenced by John’s Revelation.

What this says to me is two things. First, God’s word is living. Part of that is because God is the beginning and the end, so God’s already been where I’m going tomorrow. If so, God’s word to me tomorrow is based on a context I don’t yet know. To me, this is the best defense against the argument of biblical literalism. The context in which Scripture was written is very very different than my context today. If God’s word and meaning is stuck in a context 2000 years ago, how is that living? How could John have had a true God-moment, if his writing was at a different time and place? People since Jesus’ time have been understanding Scripture, and hearing God’s word in precisely their own time and space. God’s word is not stuck in the past. It’s living. Beginning and End.

The other thing this tells me is that God does speak to people, Jesus speaks to and through other people. John had visions. Prophets and saints since that time have spoken of their vision of Jesus, of what Jesus said to them. Who am I to suggest that’s not a thing? Why wouldn’t I learn from what people have heard or visioned from Jesus? There are plenty of writings from people who claim that Jesus has spoken to them. I don’t think I can know if that’s really God, or a really good dream. But if God can speak through John, why not? 

  

This morning, I’m thinking about how God has been speaking to and through people since Jesus’ time. I want to learn about God from people who’ve been bold enough to write or compose or speak what they’ve heard from God. I want to learn about a living God, the beginning and the end, from people from differing places and times.

Nov 21 2019 I Chronicles 15: 16-25 Commemoration of William Byrd, Thomas Tallis, and John Mehrbecke

David also commanded the chiefs of the Levites to appoint their kindred as the singers to play on musical instruments, on harps and lyres and cymbals, to raise loud sounds of joy.

Tallis, Merbecke and Byrd were musicians in the 1500’s. Their sacred music enriched the worship of their times, and still does. In choirs, And in choirs, I’ve benefitted from their gifts, by having sung prayerful tunes.

One of the appointed readings for commemorating them is a reading from Chronicles, where, In the middle of everything else David had going on, he made sure there was music. He appointed music makers and music conductors, to accompany and go before the ark of God, or the container that held the 10 Commandments, which they lugged around as the presence of God.

Like the sense of smell, singing is a very powerful memory-holder for me. There are songs I hear, when I can immediately be transported back to another time. There was a time, when the parents of many of my friends died. I participated in memorial services with music. And although later, I could not tell you what music was played or sung at any of their services, when I hear them now, I immediately know. I am in that choir loft, with tears of empathy.

Or who hasn’t been transported by a song that takes them back to their high school or college days? This is why ‘oldies’ stations (or playlists) thrive. We remember when…

Listening to music fills my soul. And even more, I’m moved when I make music, singing or playing. Currently, I’m not doing either, and I miss it. 

This morning, I’m thinking about how I might make room to make music. Time passes differently when I’m playing or singing, and all cares genuinely go away during that time. My life now is full and complicated, and it feels nearly impossible to eek out time for something else. But because I know that it deeply feeds my soul, I also know I need to reintroduce music-making. Today, I’ll think about how.

Nov 20 2019 Commemoration of Edmund, King of East Anglia 1 Peter 3: 14-18

Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an account of the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence.

Edmund was the King of East Anglia, one of many kings to various parts of modern-day England. Around 870, the Danes invaded, plundering the countryside and burning monasteries. When the Dane leaders found Edmund they offered to share the booty, if he’d be their figurehead leader and forbid the practice of Christianity. Although his army was outnumbered, Edmund refused. Eventually Edmund was captured, tortured and executed. The site of his remains became a place of pilgrimage for the faithful, particularly faithful monarchs. Edmund lived and died professing and protecting the Christian faith.

The appointed reading from I Peter is appropriate, both for Edmund and me today. It outlines a three-step process for evangelism. First, always be ready. This requires thinking about your faith, and spending enough time that within your own head, you have a defense, or an account of your God-gifted hope. Why believe in God? Why be hopeful? Where is Christ on the hard days? Why are there hard days? The first step to effective evangelism is to for each of us to have thought through the hard questions of faith. Why?

The second part of the formula is to be willing to make your defense of that faith, if asked. Tell people about your faith. Explain your why. Engage in dialogue. Answer questions. Prompt questions. Be in places where you’ll be asked.

Finally, offer the defense with gentleness and reverence. Be kind, inviting, and listen reverently to the words and understandings of the other person.

In my experience, we fail when we don’t practice all three parts. Failure in any one of these areas, renders the resulting evangelism less effective. Some people aren’t prepared, although they talk a lot, and are kind. Their thoughts haven’t been formed and tested, and it’s as if they’re formulating their theology as they’re moving their mouth. That’s not ideal, or at least it wouldn’t be for me.

Some people are challenged because they’re not asked for a defense, or if they are asked, they’re reluctant to offer it.

Finally, there are those who are thoughtful, in places to explain, and outspoken, but they are not reverent or kind. I’ve seen finger wagging, name calling and yelling, all from well-intentioned Jesus-followers.

For me, I am ready. I have thought about God’s love and grace, and there are times when I have a sense of hope or joy that I attribute solely to my faith in an ever-present, ever grace-filled God. God provides the hope, when I otherwise might have little. Sometimes I have a sense of hope and love and light that is out of place, given both my actual situation, and society’s seeming expectations of how I should be, given my situation. I have my ‘elevator speech’, my ever-updated, 3 minute explanation if anyone asks.

I believe I’m also gentle and reverent. Rarely, if ever would I approach a faith conversation with anything but reverence.

What I lack is the opportunity and eagerness to offer my prepared, kind, gentle defense. I don’t tend to run in circles where talking about faith or offering defense is a thing. There are places where faith in God is presumptive in my job for the church. No need to offer my defense there. I spend time in ‘the world’, but I’m not outgoing enough to strike up a conversation about faith, even if I was talking with people who clearly needed some.

So while Peter’s counsel is a simple three-part recipe for evangelism, I don’t see evangelism happening this way, which probably means it’s not as effective. 

This morning, I’m thinking about Peter’s outline for evangelism, to be ready, offer a defense, and be reverent. I’m thinking about which of those I need to bolster, and how I might do that. My weak area is the opportunities I have and my willingness to offer an account of my sense of hope. Perhaps I can create a space for people of faith to explore the devastating mental illness my loved one is experiencing. Maybe I can be engaged in conversations about faith at home, or at work. Today, I will think about how I might expand my opportunities to give an account of my sense of hope.

Nov 19 2019 Commemoration of Elizabeth of Hungary Luke 6:35-38

But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked.
Elizabeth of Hungary was born daughter of a King, in Hungary in 1207. She showed great concern for the poor. During a famine and when her husband was out of town, she sold her jewels, and established a hospital where she cared for the sick. She let the sick and hungry eat from the ‘royal granaries’. After her husband died when she was 20, the court opposed her ‘extravagances’, and she and her children left impoverished. She spent the following 4 years poor, but serving the poor herself. She died from exhaustion at the age of 24, and is now considered a patron of the Third Order of St. Francis, a religious community that lives in the world, and follows St. Francis.

I’m always struck by people of faith, who seem to live to care for God’s children, who put their needs behind the needs of others. I strive to be that person, and I admire Elizabeth, for her short and directed life.

And there’s something about the appointed reading, and my experience that catches my breath. I remember probably 20 years ago, seeking a job the director of a restaurant that fed the hungry and unhoused. They used the hungry and unhoused as trainees as cooks and servers. And for a little bit of volunteering in return, guests could eat for free. They sat in booths, and were served, choosing lunch off a menu, more like a restaurant, than a homeless lunch. At the time, I was working in city management, and the lure of serving those in need, or at least greater need, was great. I was tired of entitled, unappreciative folk, presuming my duty was to address their concerns about barking dogs, and how long garbage cans were left on the curb.

My wise husband reminded me that just because the clients at the café were homeless, they could just as easily be entitled unappreciative folk, making lots of presumptions about my duties. If I was going to take this job for less than half of the pay, I’d need to do it for its inherent value, not because of any externally received accolades from those I served.

We’ve all heard Jesus’ statement to ‘love your enemies’. But the end of this sentence is what strikes me this morning. ‘he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked’. It’s one thing to love my enemies. It’s another for Jesus to be kind to wicked. It’s easier to imagine being kind to the downtrodden and poor. But for us to read that Jesus is kind to the wicked and ungrateful illustrates just how radical that statement ‘love your enemies’ is. 

This morning, I’m thinking about how we are called to love and serve everyone – the good and kind, the wealthy and entitled, the poor and grateful, the criminal and wicked. We do it not because of any sense of value we receive, not because of some perceived cosmic scorecard, and not because of their deservedness. We do it because Jesus loves us, not because of the value God receives, not because of some cosmic scorecard, and certainly not because of our deservedness. God loves us because.. God loves us. We are called to love everyone in return – friend and enemy alike.

Nov 18 2019 Revelation 20: 7-15

And the devil who had deceived them was thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur, where the beast and the false prophet were, and they will be tormented day and night for ever and ever. 

I don’t know anything about a lake of fire and sulfur. I don’t know anything about the false prophet or the devil-beast. I personally don’t imagine this to be a literal story about what’s going to happen in the end-times. There are definitely those who do, and I can’t claim to know. But the language is vivid, and frightening. And it says something about the writer, and the times when Revelation was written.

Yesterday at church, I heard a great phrase, used originally in a training seminar for people working with Alzheimer’s. Behind every behavior is a feeling. Behind every feeling is a need. The preacher was suggesting it’s also a great way to think about and understand things from Scripture. Behind every written story, there’s a feeling, and behind every feeling is a need. The writer of Revelation was in a persecuted sect of Jesus-followers. I can absolutely imagine talking about the future times, or the end of times in a way that described a battle with good and evil, sheep and green horses, and the devil-beast and a fiery lake into which evil is finally vanquished. Behind the fantastical writing, I can imagine, is a need for retribution, for a hope of goodness prevailing in memorable ways. The greater the current dramatic turmoil, the greater the need for a future, dramatic victory. Again, I don’t know if there is a fiery lake in the future, or if the devil makes an entrance in this world as a beast. But regardless, I sense the underlying urgency from the story teller.

This little phrase, behind every behavior is a feeling, and behind every feeling is a need, struck a chord with me. It offers a way to step back and explore the underlying needs, that surface as behaviors. Even my loved one, who cannot explain their actions, has feelings behind the behaviors. They may not be logical or linear to me, but they are absolutely real and clear to them.

We experienced some drama over the weekend, that resulted in our loved one calling the police, and us calling mental health crisis workers. As if that wasn’t enough activity, our loved one used social media to record the event live, so in addition to 2 police, 2 mental health workers, and the three of us present, there were another 1000 people watching and commenting on our crisis, as it was happening. Some of the social media voyeurs noted that they had searched social media and found me and my writing, closing an uncomfortable circuit, and offered my insights – albeit out of context, to the running commentary.

I mention all of this because at the time it didn’t make a lot of sense. There were many behaviors, in rapid fire, that I couldn’t understand. The easiest to understand were the actions and comments of the social media onlookers, who sought an evening of entertainment. But even in my house, it was hard to follow what was going on. The behaviors made little sense, both from my husband and loved one. Part of that is because I’m frequently stuck in my head, and logic fails at times like that.

But in hindsight, if I’d been able to step back and see the feelings behind the actions, or the needs behind the feelings, the evening might have gone much smoother. 

This morning, I’m thinking about how all of our behaviors and feelings are ultimately driven or undergirded by need. Whether that’s a writer talking about fiery sulfuric lakes, social media, or even blog writers. Today, I acknowledge that I need to work out and try to make sense of Scripture, my life, and how the two intersect, this writing helps me do that. I want to pause, when someone behaves in a way I don’t understand and try to step back and find the feeling and need behind it. I still don’t understand Revelation, but if I think about the writer’s feelings and needs, I have something else to wrestle with.

Nov 17 2019 Luke 16: 1-13

No slave can serve two masters.

Immediately preceding this is a somewhat confusing parable about the rich man, and the ‘dishonest manager’. The manager has squandered the rich man’s wealth. Fearing harsh treatment, the manager goes to the rich man’s debtors and cancels some of their debt. That way, when the rich man returns and is angry, the manager has friends in all of the debtors. And oddly, the rich man commends the manager for dealing ‘shrewdly’. After this story, Jesus concludes with the, “You can’t serve both wealth and God; you can’t serve two masters.

Is Jesus saying we are to be dishonest, in order to secure a place of favor? I’m guessing not. Maybe this has more to do with the way the man is described. He’s described as a rich man, and the punch line of this parable is that you can’t serve wealth and God. So maybe this story would be better titled the dishonest rich man. Maybe the rich man was the one who was dishonest, or at least had divided loyalties – wealth and God.

Maybe the steward was settling the debts of an unjust rich man, who’d extracted debts having people owe him because of his wealth. Maybe the steward was just the precursor of the idea of legitimate debt forgiveness, debt created from the wealthy’s use of their money for more wealth. If any of this could be true, what I hear from this parable is that sometimes we make choices that by this world’s standards seem unjust or corrupt, but are actually balancing out God’s economy. In this instance the master is not the stand in for the hero, but the shrewd manager is.

Alternatively, maybe the steward was really corrupt and stealing, and the master was a good guy. If that’s the case, I think the parable has more to do with God’s grace and mercy, even for the most corrupt. If Jesus says that this shrewd or dishonest man was commended, maybe this story is saying there’s hope for us too. At our most dishonest or shrewd, we too can be loved. In this instance, the wealthy man is the stand in for the hero, and shows mercy on the unjust.

Sometimes don’t understand Jesus’ parables, because they’re cryptic or more nuanced than I can wrap my head around. In those instances, it’s too easy to read into the stories meaning that might never have been there originally. That’s ok, when I do it, based on my understanding of God’s commands – Love God, Love your Neighbor. But it stops being ok when other people use it for their understanding of God’s commands, especially when they’re rooted in hate, or exclusion, or power. It’s a slippery slope to say that my inferences of complicated Scripture are ok, but theirs is not. 

This morning, I’m thinking about the lens through which we all should read scripture – Love God and Love your Neighbor. When that lens is used, we are forced to keep looking at, and struggling with confusing stories of Jesus. Anyone who interprets Scripture with that understanding of God’s will should come to right conclusions. If it’s not about Love, it’s not about God. And if that’s the case, there are many ways to read this parable, none of which have to do with what the translation says, “And the master commended the dishonest manager”. If it doesn’t sound like love, there’s definitely more to the story.

Nov 16 2019 Matthew 16: 21-28

You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.

And so Jesus rebukes Peter, for trying to tell a different narrative, or for trying to convince Jesus he doesn’t really need to go to Jerusalem to be killed. Of course I don’t blame Peter. Anyone who has a friend doing something that will hurt them, and seemingly doing it willingly, of course you’d try to stop them. Friends don’t let friends drive drunk. We try to keep your friends of harm’s way.

Since we think we know how the story ends, we think we can understand. Jesus is heading off to do God’s will. Peter seems to be thwarting that. And since we know that Jesus is the star of this show, what he says must make the most sense, right? But as a friend, I absolutely understand. I’d try to get between my friends and a seemingly dangerous choice. If I really think about the story and Peter’s response, I’m thinking I’d do the same thing. And would probably still, even if I knew the rest of the story, even if I knew Jesus was fully divine. He was also fully human, so maybe keeping around a little longer on his human journey would have helped. Besides, if I was a friend, I’d miss him. For all these reason, I think I’m with Peter.

And in response to Peter’s well-intentioned and rational plea, we hear that Jesus rebuked him. Rebuke is another word we don’t use much. Rebuke is to express sharp criticism or disapproval. I imagine someone cowering, after being rebuked, putting their hands up, or slumping their shoulders. And Jesus rebukes Peter.

Not only that, he says to Peter, “Get behind me Satan”. Given Jesus’ fully divine nature, he’s not talking theoretically. He’s experienced Satan, and now he references Satan, while looking at Peter his friend. Get behind me Satan. You are looking at human things, but not divine things.

Since Peter was in fact, not divine, I’m not surprised he was looking at human things. We, humans, all tend to look at human things. What Jesus is asking Peter is to look at divine things. Because I know this story, I know Peter remains his friend and this story ends up all right, after some nasty plot twists. As with the other nasty plot twists, I read this “Get behind me, Satan” bit, and can stand with Jesus. Of course, Peter was a stumbling block. Of course, Jesus needed to go to Jerusalem. But if I’m honest, I only get there by a quick and superficial read of this story. And by skipping ahead to the end of the book.

This morning, I’m thinking about Peter, bewildered, human, friend, rebuked. This morning, I ache for this friend of Jesus, trying to protect him, trying to hold on to him a little longer. And in return for these efforts, he’s rebuked and a reference is made that Satan’s behind his actions.

How are we to go through this world, fully human, with friends we want to protect, stories we want to narrate better? Yes, our friends may not be fully divine, but that doesn’t make us any less fully human, doesn’t make Peter any less fully human. I wonder how we are to discern between when we’re acting as Satan’s worldly stumbling blocks versus our own human best intentions, without a sharp rebuke from Jesus. I genuinely am stumped. I’d love to believe that the Holy Spirit, ever present, will help and guide. And that requires a level of stillness and attentiveness I reach less frequently than I’d like. Today, I’ll try to find that gentler and ever-present Spirit to help guide me through my day. That’s way better than a rebuke from Jesus.

Nov 15 2019 I Maccabees 1: 41-63

But many in Israel stood firm and were resolved in their hearts not to eat unclean food.

Previously in this reading, we hear about the king who ordered everyone to keep his laws – profane the Sabbath, not circumcise sons, sacrifice unclean animals – all the things the devout Jews knew to be wrong. It says that many followed the king’s commands, but many in Israel stood firm. They resolved to follow God and God’s laws, as they understood them. It reports that they chose rather to die, than to be defiled by food, or to profane God’s covenant. And, it says, the did die for their choices.

Later in the Gospels we hear Jesus tell people that it’s not what goes in the mouth that defiles, but what comes out. Peter later dreams of all sorts of unclean animals and is assured by God that what God has made is not unclean. So what are we to make of this bit where the good guys in Scripture are, in fact, held up for not eating unclean food? 

This morning, I’m thinking about how my understanding of God and God’s call has changed over time, and how I believe humanity’s understanding of God has changed over time as well. In addition, the context has changed since Maccabees was written.

I don’t think this is an instance where we should think the writers of the story or the characters in the story were wrong, or short sighted. Rather, given the time, their stance on unclean food was paramount to their understanding of God. To break those rules meant that they were breaking God’s law. The actions they took that caused their deaths – refusing to eat unclean animals – was profaning God. At least it was one very tangible way they professed their faith and trust in God. To be asked to disregard their laws, was to be asked to disregard God.

Their understanding of profane food - of what God wanted - has since been shown, either because of context, or a changing understanding, to be no longer useful.

As Jesus said and Peter later understood from God, food isn’t inherently unclean. But having said that, I have, at times, fasted from meat or sweets. They are not unclean, and my withholding meat doesn’t inherently make me cleaner. But sometimes, food rules help me remember God. Hunger is a powerful, unbidden cue that can refocus my thoughts towards God.

I wonder how my understanding of God, and what God seeks from us will be shown to be irrelevant, because of context or a changing understanding of God. To me, that’s a perfect reason to keep it simple. Love God. Love your neighbor. If I hold on to those two simple laws, I believe I’ll be able to stay focused on what matters.

Nov 14 2019 Collect for Renewal of Life

Drive far from us all wrong desires,
incline our hearts to keep your law,
and guide our feet into the way of peace

In addition to the daily appointed Scripture, Morning Prayer includes a variety of prayers, some of which are related to the readings, some related to the morning, and some related to the day. This one feels fitting for the morning, hence its inclusion in Morning Prayer. 

This morning, I’m thinking about the verbs in this prayer – drive, incline, and guide.



Drive far from us. It’s as if our wrong desires are circling wolves. They’re not really part of us, but ever-circling. All it takes is another someone to drive those wrong desires away. And once they’re driven away, we can be more at peace, until they return – which they will. Once again, we ask that they be driven away. It’s helpful to me to realize the wrong desires are both not inherently part of me, and persistently approaching. It warrants equally persistent petition that they be driven away.

Incline our hearts. God’s law isn’t a set of rules, unless you’re talking about the big two. Love God. Love your neighbor. We’re not talking about laws like not trimming your beard, or sexual purity laws. Love God. Love your neighbor. These laws are simple, but not easy. This is about what is inside us – our intentions and our thoughts and our feelings. Daily, we need help to tip our preferences towards that law. We need help to reach that tipping point, where Loving God and Loving our neighbor is what we intend, what we think, and how we feel.

Guide our feet. Once we’ve set our intention, and right-thinking, we need to seek God’s grace to help us act that way, to direct our actions and our steps. We pray for God to guide us as we move, and act, and walk in peace.

Sometimes the repetitiveness of the prayers that accompany the varied Scripture readings feels. . . repetitive. But when that happens it’s probably because I’m rushing through, reading quickly, skimming, and not actually praying. When I actually pray the words – especially the prayers that repeat, they sink in, or I find something especially meaningful, like today’s focus on the verbs. Who knew verbs could be so interesting?

Nov 13 2019 Matthew 15:29-39

They put them at his feet, and he cured them, so that the crowd was amazed when they saw the mute speaking, the maimed whole, the lame walking, and the blind seeing.

And this morning’s reading includes more healing. Until I was feeling like I was at the short end of the healing stick, I never noticed how much healing Jesus talks about and performs. Some days, it feels inspiring. Other days, not.

Today, I’m thinking about all of the people during Jesus’ time and since, who have not been healed, despite knowing Jesus, praying to Jesus, living right lives, despite doing everything right. Yes, Jesus had the mute speak, the maim whole, the lame walk, and the blind see. But only the people he heals. There must have been people in his time who he didn’t have a chance to get to, or in the neighboring communities, who’d heard of the miracle worker alive and well during their times, but not helping their loved ones.

And through time, there have been instances of healing in Jesus’ name, and that is wonderful. And there are certainly instances where good God-following folk have appealed for healing, and their blind couldn’t see, maim made whole.

And in my house, there have been instances where I have prayed, and been healed. Where I worried about one child or another, or my husband when he was in Iraq and his office was affected by a car-bomb, and there have been times when I’ve felt I’ve had answered prayers. God has healed, or smoothed, or protected, or made whole.

And now, I’m feeling more like the folks who know of Jesus’ healing, or watch him walk by, and yet they remain blind, lame, maimed. The longer I have an increasingly sick loved one, the more it feels like I’m one of the many from Jesus’ time we don’t hear about, who saw him walk by, walking further and further away, to accomplish lovely, miraculous healings, but just not here.

This could sound defeatist, and that’s mostly not my intent, although some days, I do feel like pouting or stomping my feet, and crying ‘that’s not fair’. But in better moments, I to think about the truth of where I am, versus the dream of where I imagined or want to be. 

My current world is, in fact, not horrible. I have a great apartment, fabulous job, lovely husband, and wonderful kids – all of them. Even the sick one. How they’re behaving is not what I’d anticipated or hoped, but it is where I am now. For the most part, my loved one is not unhappy – definitely not healthy – but not unhappy. If you were to ask them about their need for healing, they’d question what needs to be healed. In their world, most everything is good.

It turns out, it’s my perception that maybe needs healing. I need to acknowledge that this is where I am, that my loved one is where they are, and although it’s quite different than envisioned, maybe it’s not horrible.

This morning, I’m thinking about the people who aren’t healed as they imagined, and their loved ones. As someone who’s watching my loved one get sicker, I must resist the dualistic thinking either my loved one is miraculously and completely reverted back to ‘normal’, or healing is bunk. I’m sitting with someone who’s decreasingly connected to the reality I’m in, but they’re mostly not unhappy. They’re mostly not calling out for healing. We who are around them are the ones needing them to be healed, because of what we think normal is, or what we envisioned.

Today, I want to wrestle with the notion that where I am, what life looks like now – this is precisely the healing Jesus offers. Where do I need to seek Jesus’ healing, given the entrenched illness my loved one has? What does healing look like? Is there a way to feel healed in the midst of this – as it persists? I can genuinely believe that Jesus’ healing doesn’t have to immediately or miraculously make them whole. And if that’s true, I need to struggle with what healing looks like, despite my first impression, that I’m sitting by the side of the road, watching Jesus meander down the road to his other healing stories.

Nov 12 2019 Psalm 78

But they did not stop their craving, though the food was still in their mouths.

This parable is a quick account of God’s persistent love of God’s people, despite their wayward ways. It tells of people who didn’t follow God, even though God had saved their ancestors from Egypt. He split open the seas and let the people walk through. They complained while wandering. Yes, God can split waters, but can he feed us? So God fed them, and “so mortals ate the bread of angels”. The psalmist says they ate their fill. And yet..

They did not stop their craving, though the food was still in their mouths. It sounds absurd, right? To crave means both to want something and to beg for something. With the food in their mouth, they’re begging for more. Maybe they were begging out of fear of the food drying up. Or maybe they were begging for more, even though they had food enough. 

This morning, I’m thinking about how easy it is to want more either out of a need for excess, or a sense of impending scarcity, despite all being well now. I have everything I need. But that doesn’t stop me from craving more. My personal cravings tend towards rich and interesting foods, experiences, and gadgets. Of course I have enough of all of those. But with enough, I still want more. There’s always something new, better, different that I should pursue.

My bigger downfall is to crave things because of a sense of impending scarcity. Yes, I have enough now, but I should hoard things because there may not be enough tomorrow. For me, this isn’t so much about tangible things, as it is about a sense of calm. I crave certainty about tomorrow’s peace, when right this second, I have deep peace. Isn’t that enough? More important, isn’t it largely mine to obtain?

This moment, I have peace because I’ve decided to, and God willing, I’ve got it. My house is quiet, the coffee is hot, the thoughts are flowing. Later this morning, I’ll ride my bike to work, spend the day doing work I love, and then come home to cook and feed my family wonderful food already awaiting me in the refrigerator. At each of those moments, I can and should be able to find peace. Who knows what drama I’ll face in the midst of that? I’m not suggesting there won’t be, but I do know that at this red hot moment, I’m at peace. Leave it there. I do not need to crave it for the future. I need to have it now. And now. And now. All day long.

Today, I hope to remember that I do not need to, nor should I crave anything. At this moment, I have enough.

Nov 11 2019 Matthew 15: 1-20

What comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles.

Jesus is refuting the Pharisee’s charge that to eat with unclean hands defiles a person. It’s not what goes in the mouth, but what comes out that defiles.

This is another example where the Pharisees are used to illustrate dogmatic religious practices. Unfortunately, anyone participating in an organized religion – particularly clergy – fall prey to the same thing. We go to church, we sit, we stand, we kneel, we say certain prayers, we raise our hands, we cross ourselves. All of these actions have deep meaning, and if done intentionally, their actions carry those deep meaning.

Our bodies moving in particular ways signal our brains for that underlying truth – we kneel when we are acknowledging are praise or honor or penitence. . When I’m about to read the Gospel, I make the sign of the cross on my forehead, lips and heart – to signify that I want to believe in my head, profess with my words, and feel in my heart – everything I’m about to say. Muscle memory makes me start doing that action before I read, and then once I start, I genuinely think about my head, lips and heart.

But there are plenty if instances where I go through motions without understanding or embodying them. In those instances, I’m no better than the Pharisees. In most of Jesus’ stories about the Pharisees, it’s not so much that they’re bad, but they’ve lost the underlying meaning of the things they do. They care more about going through the motions because they’re supposed to, and less about why. As a liturgical Christian, I always take heed when Jesus challenges the Pharisees; that seems to me to be a risk of my tradition.

Specifically, in today’s reading, Jesus is saying that it’s not what goes in the mouth, but rather what comes out. The Pharisees care about eating with clean hands. At that time, it was imperative to do so; there were plenty of disease and filth, and not a lot of food safety. The Pharisees made that practical practice into a practice affirming their faith – similar to many of the ancient rituals and rules about keeping Kosher. I have an orthodox Rabbi friend, who has a very Kosher kitchen; it would be impossible to not think about God when you’re pulling out your two sets of pots and pans, and cooking in a certain way. In her kitchen, it was clear God was present in all she did. 

But Jesus is challenging them to think bigger than food safety. If you’re trying to keep your body pure with rules about what goes in to it, think about what comes out of it too. As illustration to his point, Jesus explains that what comes out of the mouth comes from the heart, things like evil intentions, murder, adultery, fornication, theft, false witness, slander.

This is another example of that idea that what happens to us does not have to define who we are to other people. What comes in to my body, or what I hear, or what I experience will clearly affect and inform me. But it’s entirely my choice, whether I let that define how I relate to someone else. It does not need to inform what I say, or how I act. 

This morning, I’m thinking about those times when what comes in to my body – negative experiences and spoken words – seem to define who I am, because I feel captive to the generally surly view of the world which will frame every subsequent encounter. I want to figure out how to acknowledge what comes in, while still governing what comes out. I intend to always speak truth and love. Maybe with an acknowledgement that what comes out of the mouth is what defiles I can pause long enough to actually disconnect what comes in, from what comes out.

Nov 10 2019 Luke 14: 12-24

But they all alike began to make excuses.

Jesus is telling a story about a big dinner party, where the host invited many. I assume the host invited friends and colleagues. But alas, the invited start making excuses for not joining. In response, the host invites the poor, crippled and lame and blind. These were not presumably the host’s friends and colleagues. But because those originally invited wouldn’t come, the host invites people deemed ‘the other’ by society.

Jesus is saying something about the nature of the invited, who don’t recognize the importance of the invitation, even though they’re the insiders. Those invited didn’t choose to be insiders, but chose to be out. Conversely, the outsiders didn’t choose to be outsiders, but were invited in.

This is more than a parable from 2000 years ago. I’ve seen it in action. I’m reminded of a foot washing I was involved with, in Seattle. In conjunction with a homeless service event downtown, a group of church folk washed the feet of hundreds of homeless. It was not a religious event, and I think we may have been the only faith-based providers. We weren’t identified as faith-based, and no one was personally recognizable as clergy – no clergy attire, just team T-shirts, like the hundreds of other providers. It was awkward but meaningful work. Most startling to me was the number of times when the poor, crippled, lame and blind recognized God’s work. “Do you know that Jesus did this? This is God’s work”.

It definitely felt like God’s work, in amongst the angry, ill, confused, strung out.

Contrast that with the annual foot washing, conducted annually at church the week before Easter. Generally, that is done with the people from the church. In Jesus’ story, it’s the invited guests. Some find something else to do, so they’re no where to be found during that intimate part of the service. Others participate, and look awkward. Some participate, as if out of a sense of obligation, or piety. Some participate and recognize Jesus’ service and love, although by my assessment, not many. 

This morning, I’m thinking about how it’s the outsiders who recognize the invitation, more than the invited. This is challenging, as I try to be an insider. Am I at risk of missing the invitation, or of deciding I have something more important to do? How will I recognize the invitation, and its meaning, any more than the invited guests in Jesus’ story?

Today, I hope to actively try to be an insider to the ultimate host, but I also hope to recognize that my insider-ness puts me at greater risk of taking for granted the hosts’ hospitality and offer to grace and love.

Nov 9 2019 Matthew 14:22-36

So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came towards Jesus.

The disciples are in the boat. There’s a storm. They’re afraid. Jesus walks on the water to get to them. They’re afraid. He repeats his most-oft phrase “do not be afraid”, to which Peter responds by getting out of the boat to meet him, on the water. But Peter realizes he’s on the water and there’s a storm, and gets afraid. He starts to fall. Jesus reaches out his hand, catches him and they return to the boat, and the winds ceased.

This is such a great and human illustration of faith. Of course the disciples were afraid. Being in a storm on a fishing boat 2000 years ago must have been terrifying. Seeing Jesus walk on the water to them equally terrifying. But there’s Peter stepping out in faith.

And of course, once he got out on the water, and realized what he’d done, it was terrifying. And Jesus reaches out, saves him and calms the seas. 

I feel like I’m often on a small boat at sea. I relish when I remember Jesus’ words, do not be afraid. I try to be the one to step out of the boat, in faith. I’m often the one who, having done so, get frightened and start sinking. I try to be the one to remember I’m not alone, call out to God, and am made safe once again. I’m happy when the storms seem calmed. In this story, there are identifiable and nearly discrete stages 1) tossed by storm 2) recognize Jesus, but frightened as he approaches 3) calmness in his “do not be afraid” 4) willingness to step out in faith 5) faltering, as doubts reemerge 6) saved by Jesus again 7) things calm down.

In the past week, I’ve experienced many things that feel like huge and frightful loss. A lovely woman died after falling down some stairs at church, hitting her head, and never regaining consciousness. A friend is battling with currently unknown but possibly frightening illness. My loved one continues to get sicker, as she refuses to take medicine.

It’s easy to lump all of this, plus everything else going on in my world as if it’s all in stage 1, the storm is surging. But actually that’s not true. In some of these challenges, I’ve already heard Jesus’ calming words. Others I’ve stepped out. Some I’m flailing on the water. In some places, Jesus has calmed my seas.

It does God a disservice to lump all of my problems at the starting line of this story. I’m not facing all things from the same place. I have already heard Jesus calming words in some areas, and in many, I’ve believed. Some others, I continue to fret.

This morning I’m thinking about how there’s a journey that we travel through our life of faith. But in each area of our life, we’re in a different place on that journey. Sometimes we really are at the first, boat rocking place. When the news come of a new illness, or crisis. But sometimes we’re further along the path. We’ve actually already reached out and received the words, “do not be afraid”. None of the places are better or worse, but it’s helpful, I think to remember that one new problem doesn’t really put everything back at the storm-rocked boat. Today, I want to take stock of all the areas where I’ve already re-entered the boat, and the seas are calm, and remember that’s where the journeyalways ends.

Nov 8 2019 Matthew 14: 13-21

‘This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.’

In the beginning of this passage, Jesus tries to retreat in a boat by himself to a deserted place. But the crowds noticed, and followed him. When he got to his deserted place, it was full of people seeking healing. Jesus obliged, and healed them. In the evening, his disciples gently suggested that he should send them away. I’m guessing up to this point Jesus has not gotten his time away, and his disciples are also getting peopled-out. Send them away, so they can go buy food.

Again Jesus does not send them away, but tells the disciples to feed them. Then we get the story of feeding the 5000, not counting women and children. Of this familiar story, I’m intrigued by Jesus’ repeated returning to them.

I’m someone who needs occasionally to go away to a deserted place. I don’t love being alone, nor do I dislike people. But it’s in the stillness that I can process or think through what I’ve done and said, or what I should have done and said. Without my deserted still places, I tend to run on autopilot, which works much of the time, but not all of the time. I understand Jesus wanting to get a way to a deserted place.

And I understand the disciples wanting to send the people away. Their attempted dismissal was probably less about down-time processing and more about fatigue after a long day. There comes a time in my day, when I’m less than useful. I have friends who’ve affirmed this by saying that after a certain hour, I turn into a pumpkin. After years of understanding how I function, my husband and I have come to the agreement that we should not talk about difficult or contentious things, like how to care for our sick loved one, after 7:00pm. By that time, my resilience is greatly diminished, if not gone.

And yet, in a model of bad boundaries all around, Jesus heals the people, after seeking a deserted place. He sends the disciples back to feed the 5000. I’m struck by a sense of defeat and fatigue, thinking about that. Many years ago, I served as a consultant on a team conducting studies of governance models, how and at what cost should communities become cities. The lead consultant was out of town, and had needed some final work completed prior to his return. The pieces did not fall in to place, and I still had a more than full time job. By 10:00pm, I was still at the computer trying to finish up some analysis, and still needed to write up the report. I remember crying, because stopping was not an option. I had to go on, and I had nothing left, but pathetic tears.

But many years later, my son was in Army Ranger school. He learned there that when you think you have nothing left, you still have 40% left. Our body’s sense of self-preservation sends the warnings to slow down or stop well before we actually run out of gas. 

I’m not sure knowing this would help me at 9:00 at night in my current world, to voluntarily deal with a challenging issue at home. I think I’d still choose to go to a deserted place, or better, go to bed. But knowing that my tank isn’t really empty when it feels like it is, is a little comforting.

This morning, I’m thinking about all those times when Jesus asks us to return to the people who need healing or feeding. When I’m called to deal with my ill loved one, or a demanding call at work, or super-human expectations. Jesus sought a deserted place. We’re allowed to seek our deserted places, and sometimes that place is interrupted, or we’re called to return to the masses. I pray that I have the strength to heal, serve, feed, love, care and understand where I am called to, and that I know when I really need to depart to deserted place, and then turn my phone off.

Nov 7 2019 Matthew 14: 1-12

At that time Herod the ruler heard reports about Jesus; and he said to his servants, ‘This is John the Baptist;’

This is a recounting of the beheading of John the Baptist. John the Baptist had told Herod that he should not be with the wife of his brother, Philip. The wife, Herodias, didn’t like John trying to tell her or the king what to do, and basically tricked the king into beheading John, all for a promise made and a trick played. But because he’d promised his daughter whatever she wanted and did it in front of others, and because Herodias prompted the daughter to ask for the head of John the Baptist, apparently the King had to do it. And so, John’s head was given to Herodias on a platter. There’s so much wrong with this story about John. And that’s not what I’m intrigued with this morning.

Upon hearing about Jesus, Herod jumped to the conclusion that it was John the Baptist, raised from the dead. That sounds to me like a very unclean conscience and a good bit of unresolved guilt. The entrance of Jesus on the scene provided Herod an opportunity to relive and re-solve the incident with that pesky beheading. I’m not suggesting he did resolve it.

It’s interesting to me how things that are unresolved or for which we feel guilt keep replaying in our life. Looking at the not-so-bright side, we are tormented by the bad things we’ve done, until we’ve finally learned our lesson. Unbidden, these memories can frame and influence absolutely unrelated things, as in Herod’s case. New things are seen as if they’re related to the old, even when they’re not. Some people use the excuse of Karma, when something bad happens to me now for payment of something bad that I did in the past. We ascribe to current events meaning from past events. Look, this Jesus guy must be John the Baptist raised from the dead. Like Herod, I wonder how much that baggage blinds us from the situation that’s in front of us, rather than what’s behind.

Looking on the brighter side, things from the past – regrets or things unresolved – these things replay in my head, often for good reasons. It’s as if the cosmos, aka God, knows that I’m not done with whatever it is, or haven’t learned what I needed to, and I’m given another opportunity for closure. Things ahead of me remind me of things I have done, or things I should have done, and something wasn’t quite right. I relive or at least go through the emotional gymnastics of those past events, prompted by something ahead. I’m given the chance to think about them, and get to the place of understanding, forgiveness, compassion, or love, where I was unable before.

Maybe we all have a certain amount of baggage caused by life upbringing, or things done to us, done by us, or things left undone. Maybe we are all called to work through all that stuff and learn God’s love and grace even through that baggage. Maybe especially because of the baggage. When things come up for us that happened in the past, maybe we’re just asked to sit with it and let it teach us what it will about God’s kingdom. 

This morning, I’m thinking about how things from the past can creep into my tomorrow, and only with intention and grace can I use that for God’s good purpose, to give me a chance for re-solution. Today, when I re-experience something from the past, I want to try to sit with it, and learn from it. If I don’t get to closure, that memory or thought may reappear tomorrow or next year. And I’ll be given another chance.

Nov 6 2019 Exodus 22:21-27 Commemoration of William Temple

You shall not…

In this bit from Exodus, God is explaining things that shall not be done by people of God to other people of God. You shall not oppress the alien, abuse the widow or orphan, exact interest on the poor, take your neighbor’s coat. If you do these things, God will deal hear the cry of the injured, and deal with the injurer.

William Temple was the Archbishop of Canterbury, effectively like the parliamentarian leader of the worldwide communion of the Anglican faith and all derivatives, like the Episcopalians. He was a firm believer, and acted with deep conviction and passion for the incarnation. He believed that because Jesus took flesh and became human, ‘the personality of every man and woman is sacred’. This believe created a deep obligation to loving and serving the poor, because through serving them, he served Christ himself.

I echo this deep incarnational theology, although I wouldn’t have had a name for it. In our baptismal covenant, which we make with God when we are baptized, and then recommit several times a year contains a question and response that still chokes me up. It asks, Will you seek and serve Christ in all people? And our response is, I will with God’s help.

I believe this deeply. Christ is present in all people. ALL People. When I say that, I immediately want to go do something to serve Christ in my neighbor. I conjure up all sorts of activities to do, some of which actually get done. But I believe God’s holy presence is in all of us.

I’m reminded of a woman who worked at a homeless breakfast with me. She came to bring a lot of half & half, every time we gathered. She had clear reasons for this. She said that because she got half & half in her coffee and it tasted so much better than that powdered stuff, they should get half & half too. Christ is in all.

There are many who serve the poor, or donate to charity, or even cook a meal because they are wealthy and good and privileged. And those others are not. There’s a sense of condescension, of the donor being better than the recipient. But think how absurd that is if Christ really is present in the other person!

How can or should we act better than another person, if Christ himself is present in that person? Although condescending charity may be good for funding a social service system desperately in need of money, it clearly is a sign that someone does not believe they’re serving Christ in that other person. 

This morning, I’m thinking about seeking and serving Christ in all people, and how much honor and grace should be given to everyone I meet, because I’m honoring Christ. William Temple was a man who deeply believed in Christ’s presence in and amongst us, and helped me and many others strengthen our incarnational theology.